


Long Live The King

by winchemrys



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2836391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchemrys/pseuds/winchemrys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Arthur has a twin named Adam and the two have to fight for the right to become king of the realm of Camelot, which has been in disarray since long before their mad father had passed. Prince Arthur only has Sir Merlin, his first knight and closest friend, to turn to after his brother declares war against him for the throne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (I know this isn't chapter 6 of Hello Beastie - please don't kill me!  
> I promise that will be up before the holidays are over. Well, hopefully...) 
> 
> This was actually an assignment I'd done for my Writer's Craft course, a short story mainly focusing on plot and characterization with little dialogue. Of course, I had used other names to substitute Merlin and Arthur and left out the fact that this was essentially a great way for me to write fanfiction in class ;) I liked it enough to not let it sit on my laptop, basically finished... collecting dust, if you will. So I decided to switch the names back and post it! 
> 
> (I know a file on a computer can't literally collect dust. Shut up.)
> 
> Enjoy! x
> 
>  ***
> 
> Edit: I don't actually know why, but every time I add tags, "- Character" appears right behind it. That's NOT part of the tags. Just ignore that, please!

"The King is dead."  
  
  
A tall figure stood alone in the vast throne-room, facing the empty seat his ruler once took, as he heard the muffled announcement being made on the other side of the doors to crowds gathered below outside the castle. It had grown cold for a while now, the seat, with a thin film of dust covering the surface, and it would remain so for a while longer, the young man knew that.  
  
He also knew the villagers won’t mourn the loss of their king. The Mad King, a title he’d coined some ten years ago, hadn’t made an appearance out in the open in about two years. Only a handful of people actually knew why; his sons and select members of the Royal Court had been aware this day had been inevitable for some time now.  
  
The figure standing before the throne was one of his sons: prince Arthur of House Pendragon, the family that was currently regal authority to the realm of Camelot. He had chosen to not be publicly present when the grave news would be released to his people. There didn’t seem to be a point, really, in his mind. Arthur knew if he should be present, standing alongside his brother, Adam, on the balcony, it would only make the situation worse. There was no need to remind everyone that neither of the princes had been appointed as heir to the throne before their father had slipped away. Most of that was essentially the late king’s fault, honestly.  
  
Had this happened fifteen years prior, most would assume the king hadn’t chosen an heir because it would simply break his heart to chose between both his sons, the royal Pendragon twins. But everyone, from the nobles to the villagers, knew the real reason why a future king had not been appointed yet: because The Mad King was too stubborn and arrogant to give up the crown to anyone else, not even his own children. He’d assumed he would live until his senior years and whenever he was approached by his advisors and asked when would be the best time to finally choose the rightful heir, he would push it back, avoiding the issue at hand. Not even when he had “fallen ill” had he decided it was the right time.  
  
Of course, “fallen ill” wasn’t exactly how Arthur would describe the king’s… hindrances— 

  
 **_…Fifteen Years Ago…_**  
  
 _“This is your doing, Pendragon!” a woman screeched, hunched over the limp body of a young girl, the light still fading from her wide, green eyes. The woman clutched at her face, screaming out her name, but alas, it was too late. She sobbed against the body she held in her arms, beginning to shake violently as her anger built._  
  
 _Little Arthur had skidded to a halt in the mud, panting as rain soaked his clothes that were much too large for his small frame. This was the farthest from the castle he’d ever ventured, and his teeth chattered in the cold, instantly yearning for the warm fire in his chambers he’d abandoned. He scanned the clearing until he found the source of the woman’s rage, ignoring the angered shouts of the older squires and knights that had chased after him and Adam, no doubt scolding them with “little boys shouldn’t” and “princes cannot risk” and “you have to stay out of this”. His father was standing tall and proud, not one trace of remorse found on his steely face. The king held his sword at the weeping woman’s throat, forcing her to look up at him._  
  
 _“No, it was yours. Your kind do not belong in these lands. I was merely teaching you a lesson.”_  
  
 _The woman let out a blood-curdling scream, lurching away from the blade pressing against her neck threateningly. “She was a girl! She was innocent!” All of a sudden, the woman mumbled something under her breath, and before the king was even able to pick up what she said, Arthur personally felt her intent; he was suddenly pulled by a force from within the earth, an invisible force that tied his feet down and forced his hands still. He stood rigid with shock, the confusion evident through his facial expression. He could hear the faint yelp of fear erupt from one of his knights as they were overcome with the magic controlling them and held still. She began to rebuke his father now that she knew his soldiers were useless._  
  
 _Arthur watched the entire exchange, unable to do anything but stay still, and silent as his words were stolen from him, hand still clutching his own small blade. He knew his brother was somewhere behind him, probably in the same position as him. Adam was grunting in his frustration as he struggled to break free of his invisible bonds, and Arthur already knew it was pointless._ Idiot. He’s only wasting his energy.  
  
 _“…you judge us because we are not the same as you!” She paced around the king's rigid body angrily, essentially fuming in her rage. “You can’t stand to have something, someone, dwelling in your precious kingdom which you cannot control. But rather than attempt to learn the ways of sorcery, to understand it, you kill us like we’re game running around waiting for you to hunt us down. We have magic — we’re not evil!” The woman stopped in front of him now, shoulders stiff and fists clenched at her sides, and closed her eyes. She mumbled something else now in a language the small princes didn’t understand. “We are not evil, my king,” she repeated, this time her voice had lowered to a calmness that turned Arthur’s blood to ice. She raised one hand, eyes beginning to glow amber-gold, and pressed it against the king’s chest. “…You are.”_  
  
 _Arthur could tell that if his father was trying to scream, he would have been, had the enchantment not been silencing him completely. When she removed her hand, there was a sizzling handprint left on his father’s chain-mail, and the glow in her eyes began to fade as he panted soundlessly with wide, shocked eyes. She grinned darkly, before turning away from him._  
  
 _“Enjoy the nightmares, my king,” she called over her shoulder in a silky, smooth voice. Then, after pausing to caress the dead girl’s cheek on the ground, a whirlwind of darkness and debris enveloped the woman and it disappeared with her along with the girl’s body. Arthur never saw that woman again._  
  
  
  
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut hard enough until he saw blinding specks light dancing along his vision when he opened them moments later. His blood still boiled to this day at any recollection towards that dark memory; he had been but a boy at the time, but he still understood the extent of the horrors his father had released upon his own people. His father could have gone about it in hundreds of different ways, all of which would have been better than what really happened. It was The Mad King’s fault their realm was fraught with turmoil, even still after his death. Now that he was dead, Arthur shockingly felt no sorrow at the loss. His father had never really been his _father_ for a long, long while.  
  
The young knight’s attention was now on the sound of the large doors behind him swinging open, then shut again, as someone else entered the throne-room. Arthur knew who it was just by the sound of the familiar, soft footsteps making their way towards him.  
  
“Sire,” the other man greeted him solemnly, pausing to stand at a respectful distance behind the young prince. Arthur let out a rattled sigh, shaking his head to himself in faint amusement. He turned around to face the person standing before him; he was clad head to toe in raven black armour that matched his unruly, ebony hair, sheathed sword resting at his hip. Sir Merlin was Arthur’s most trusted knight, most loyal ally, and closest friend. He hated the formalities the other man insisted on using between him.  
  
“You know how I feel about you calling me that, Merlin,” Arthur remarked, turning to pour them both goblets of the crimson wine set out for them on the side of the room. He didn’t need to look up as he filled each cup to know Merlin had quickly made his way over to stand at his side. Arthur handed his old friend the cup, not bothering to ask if he even wanted a drink in the first place, before taking a seat at the table in the middle of the room, burying his face in his hands before he could catch Merlin’s infamous _you’re-such-a-prat_ - _and-we've-talked-about-this-before_ face as he let out a huff.  
  
“That’s Sir Merlin, to you,” Merlin stated half-heartedly, taking his seat beside Arthur; the familiar fire in his voice was hardly there and Arthur hated that. The glimmer of warmth that had flashed across his cobalt-blue eyes was gone the moment it had appeared. Arthur knew why his friend wasn’t letting himself let go around him like he usually did — formalities always meant they weren’t alone. Someone (someone that should hardly be trusted) was always listening, after all.  
  
Arthur only smirked, the amusement not quite making it up to his own eyes as he took a sip and leaned back into his chair. They sat like that for a while, finishing off their drinks and staring off elsewhere in silence. Arthur didn’t mind the silence between them, and Merlin was really the only person in the entire castle he felt comfortable enough with to just sit without speaking; if it were anyone else, the situation would feel more awkward than anything.  
   
“What am I supposed to do now?” he murmured eventually, staring a hole into the giant portrait of his late mother hanging high up across the room from them. He forgot about the possible curious ears listening in as he broke down all of a sudden. “I don’t even miss him that much. Does that make me a horrible son — a-am I as bad as Adam? Or does that just prove how bad of a father he was?” His hand started to shake — when had that happened? He clenched it closed, forcing it still. “…And what am I going to do with Adam, to protect everyone from him? How am I supposed to help my people if I have no power to help them in the first place?” Arthur felt a reassuring pressure at his shoulder as Merlin squeezed it as he blurted out his worries and took in a long, shaky breath. But Arthur knew Merlin’s silence was answer enough; neither of them knew what was to come.

And neither of them would be ready for it.


	2. Chapter 2

**…Two Months Later…**  
  
“Brother, please,” Arthur insisted softly, not breaking eye contact with Adam for a second. “This isn’t the only way to solve our problem.” This was his last chance to stop this from happening. Smoke filled the acrid air, blood stained the ground beneath his feet… All around him, the bodies of villagers and knights lay scattered around them, lifeless and cold. So many had split both ways - to fight alongside Arthur, or to fight alongside Adam. This isn’t what he wanted. But he couldn’t turn his back on the people that depended on them. _Well, the ones that are still alive…_ He swallowed hard, forcing himself to push on, praying his brother would see sense. “Look around you. Is this what a king wants for his people?”

A dragon’s roar sounded somewhere overhead in the distance. How had Adam even convinced the _Dragonlords_ of all people, those who commanded the ferocious, fire-breathing beasts as easily as the battle-worn prince could wield a sword, to fight at his side, anyway?  Arthur only feared what Adam would do to them all once his use for them was fulfilled.   
  
“They say the darkest hour’s just before the dawn,” his brother said, eyes wild and feral, mouth curling up excitedly into a grin that seemed to rather fit that of a feline, not of a human being. It was that face, the lack of humanness in his eyes, that told Arthur his near-identical twin was truly gone. How different the two were. Adam hadn’t been the happy-go-lucky, carefree little boy he once was for years — not since that day in the rain with the sorceress. Somewhere along the line, amidst the temptation of using magic for one’s own greed, the _wrong_ way, and taking their father’s “ailments” to his advantage, that little boy was lost, and the thought broke Arthur’s heart. They had been "as thick as thieves" as children, Gaius, the court physician, would say. _Why, Adam?_ Arthur begged him internally, pleading through his eyes. Adam hadn’t listened to him. He never did. _Why can’t you just see? I don’t want to hurt you, you absolute git._  
  
Then Adam lunged forward with his blade raised high, faking left before shooting towards Arthur’s right, and Arthur felt a twinge of pain knot tightly somewhere in his gut; they had learned that trick on the training field together when they were barely ten years old. Fortunately, Arthur had always been the more agile of the two and only had a couple of seconds to dodge the attack and kick his brother from behind to send Adam sprawling into the dirt as he let out a shout of indignation.  
  
Arthur sighed in defeat and unsheathed his sword, grimly setting his jaw as he tightened the grip he had on the handle. Adam wouldn't listen. It seemed the battle would not end tonight, then.

  
 **_…Ten Years Ago…_**  
  
  
 _“Don’t be scared. Please, Arthur...” - The voice was gentle and soothing; the tone one would use to calm a spooked horse._  
  
 _Magic was so much darker than he’d expected. So much more sinister. It corrupted man’s heart. It was the source of pure evil. That is, that’s what Arthur’s father had taught him. That’s what Arthur experienced first-hand after witnessing a sorceress curse his father five years prior, forcing him to live in a world inside his head where nightmares, to him, were real. Of course, he’d met plenty magical creatures and people with powerful abilities throughout the years once he was actually allowed to go exploring beyond the castle walls, but his father didn’t need to know about that._  
  
 _“You can trust me, Arthur,” - He wanted to believe that so much, Arthur really did. All he could picture himself doing_ was _trust the boy talking to him. But right now, he was only suspiciously perplexed at what was going on._  
  
 _The king didn’t need to know of his son’s doubts… Doubts that led to him straying from everything he’d ever been taught._  
  
 _The king didn’t need to know that one of the young princes was huddled up against the wall on the far side of the dark stables, shuddering in fear as his childhood friend whispered, “Hoppaþ nu swilce swá lieg fleogan,”  his comforting deep blue eyes set ablaze to the molten gold that looked suspiciously like the sorceress’ eyes when she uttered her curse. The only source of light came from the one candlestick his friend held. As the boy kneeling before him whispered words completely foreign to Arthur’s ears, the flame flitting across the wick suddenly lifted up into the air, floating. Arthur gasped. Merlin smiled, the gold fading into an endless blue. As his hand that wasn’t holding the candlestick moved, so did the flame. “I don’t know that many spells yet, but I hope I learn some that are a little more impressive than this one,” Merlin laughed softly, keeping his eyes on the fire._  
  
 _“When... H-How— ” Arthur stuttered stupidly, pressing up against the wall harder, even though he knew that he was trapped. He tried to swallow but his throat was all dry. “Mer-M-Merlin…You…” Merlin just moved the light around for a few more moments before setting it back in place on the candle._ He’s a sorcerer. He’s lied to me our whole lives. He’s a sorcerer. Merlin is a sorcerer. _The skinnier boy settled down in the straw in front of Arthur. He crossed his legs and just waited, not looking away from Arthur now. His eyes were large, hopeful, a little wary, and — innocent._  
  
 _Magic was not evil. Men were. They chose to do with it what they liked. It was that day, the day his best friend finally decided to show him his biggest secret (risking his life doing so), see that earnest purity in that one spell, that he finally understood that. Of course, Arthur had been terrified. Then, he was confused, which was then followed by denial. Finally, after his skepticism, he had accepted it. It took time, but deep down, he knew Merlin would never hurt him. He and Merlin were much too close for that. They'd grown up together, trained together. They shared a unique bond, one that baffled Arthur on multiple occasions, because he didn't feel as safe and content as he was with Merlin than with any other. Merlin was the only human on earth Arthur could really be himself around._

 _Arthur would never hand Merlin over to his father. He was his best friend; damn the laws! He was more of a brother than Adam seemed to be these days, really. More than a brother, actually._ _The mere thought of betraying Merlin made the young prince sick to his stomach._  
  
 _The two boys had to keep everything very quiet and secretive, but any chance they’d get, outside practice and Arthur’s stupid princely duties, or “pratly duties” as Merlin had called them, they’d head to the woods outside the castle walls. That was where they were safe and free to talk about whatever they liked and have fun together and just be the boys they couldn’t be when they were a squire aspiring to becoming a valiant knight or young prince studying the other outlying realms allied with House Pendragon. Merlin taught Arthur about magic. As the years went on, Arthur still never told a soul, especially as his father’s “sickness” got worse; he’d begun to have fits in the middle of council meetings, claiming ghosts of those he’d put to death wouldn’t leave him be._  
  
 _Of course, no one believed him, and no one wanted to let the word spread that the House of Pendragon was run by a madman. It was mostly kept on the down-low, but it soon got too hard to hide when he’d fight his way out into the courtyard, screaming at empty air, and put anyone he saw in front of him (those who were actually there and indeed alive) to death. That was when the people began calling him The Mad King. No one had actually loved him as their ruler, for he had always been a tyrant. It just simply got worse after the curse._  
  
 _Arthur would always ask if there was any sort of cure, medicinal or magical. He wasn’t sure why — he had no love for his father, for he had treated both him and Adam poorly as children before he began to lose his sanity. Arthur just didn’t like to see people suffer._  
  
 _Merlin always said he hadn’t found one yet. Arthur somehow knew he was always telling the truth._  
    

  
 **…Five Months Later…**  
  
Only moments ago, Arthur’s ears had been ringing with the wailing and screaming, all the sounds of human suffering, deafening and overwhelming. Now, there was silence. The weight of the silence was close to outweighing the noise.  
  
Arthur held Adam in his arms, only doing what he’d do on instinct when he saw his twin crumpling to the floor: catching him, dropping his own bloodied sword in the process. _Oh Gods... Adam's blood..._ The metal clanging against the stone barely registered in his head once he let go. _So much blood..._ All of a sudden, the moment he’d been dreading for an unending amount of restless nights was happening, and happening much too quickly. Just, the only difference was the fact that his brother had switched places with where Arthur had expected to be.  
  
The past seven months had been completely brutal and emotionally, and physically exhausting in every way imaginable. There were countless battles won and lost for both sides. The body count was astronomical. So many people from the outlying villages and towns had travelled to pledge their allegiance to him. Too many of those people had been slaughtered by his brother’s own army.  
  
Arthur looked up with wide eyes at the figure covered in the old, dark suit of armour he knew all too well. It was grotesque by now, filthy with dirt and smeared with blood, the golden outline of a dragon's head along the breastplate nearly unrecognizable. But it had done it’s job well, to protect the person inside it that had become more important than most things in Prince Arthur's life. Merlin stood with wide, terrified eyes, right arm outstretched, frozen. Unharmed. He stared back at Arthur as he slowly made sense of the situation, concern flooding the lovely, deep blue eyes that had become so very tired as each battle had raged on.  
  
Adam knew exactly how he would have been able to control his brother if he held the knight hostage. If he had gone so far as to kill Merlin in front of him, the only real family Arthur had left, he’d have probably broken Arthur completely. Adam looked to be in no need to take his time in capturing Merlin. He had been ready to murder him right in front of Arthur. And Arthur had been ready to act accordingly.  
  
Arthur suddenly couldn’t control the tears cascading down his face. He cradled Adam’s head, hands shaking as he fussed over him pointlessly. It was ironic: Arthur was trying to keep Adam from feeling any pain and make sure he was alright, yet he had been the one to deliver the final blow. Arthur started to weep as he held his dying brother in his arms, shoulder shaking as the sobs wracked his body uncontrollably. All fighting stopped amidst the castle that had been stormed. There was no point of fighting anymore… everyone knew it.  
  
All Arthur could see below him was the little boy he knew so well when he was small. The lost boy, his brother, that had his childhood stolen from him… he was forced to grow up too quickly. They both were. The only difference was that Arthur had Merlin to turn to for comfort and Adam never let anyone grow close enough to gain that level of trust.  
  
“Adam I’m sorry… so sorry,” he whispered, chest heaving. Adam began to cough up blood, choking and spluttering horribly. “Why couldn’t you just _see_ …”  
  
But then he felt a hand grip the nape of his neck, and Arthur stopped talking at once. He looked into his brother’s emerald green eyes, so unlike his that were only a couple shades lighter than Merlin's. They had become so dull over the years… they were once radiant and bright when he was young. Their father had once mentioned how Adam had their mother's eyes. Adam squeezed, and Arthur could almost _feel_ the emotion behind the gesture. Arthur knit his brows together as understanding rushed through him. He was sorry too.  
  
All the weeping brother could hear was the gurgling breaths Adam sucked in and out, and he remained still until he could feel the hand at the back of his hand slipping away. He watched as Adam’s eyes slid closed, face going slack. The harsh breathing stopped altogether.  
  
Adam was gone. That meant the war had gone with him. That was their agreement. The last one living would take the crown. Adam’s idea, of course.  
  
 Arthur wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something. He needed to rip something apart. He wanted to do _something_ , he needed to do anything loud, violent, needed to release his anger, his frustration… but he couldn’t move. His dried lips were parted with no sound escaping them. Even his cries had ceased into silence, wide eyes staring unblinkingly at Adam's now ashen face. He didn’t know how long he knelt on the floor, cradling his brother’s cooling body, but once he finally looked up, there seemed to be a lot more people surrounding him than he recalled. He looked up once more at Merlin. He’d just killed his brother for his best friend.

 

His best friend that was a sorcerer.

His best friend that was a sorcerer that was probably more than a best friend.

His best friend that was a sorcerer that was probably more than a best friend that didn't understand how much Arthur truly needed him by his side but had just witnessed Arthur murder his brother to ensure Merlin would _remain_ by his side. And Arthur didn’t know what to do.

 

Ah, but Sir Merlin Emrys, the most loyal and noble of all... he knew exactly what the poor, tormented prince needed, because, after all, he knew him better than anyone. After months of campaigning, and rallying new soldiers together, and training the villagers that had no battle experience whatsoever, giving some sort of motivating speech near daily, Arthur needed someone else to speak. He needed someone else to take control for once. Merlin took in one breath, gave Arthur the slightest of nods, smiling faintly, before straightening and turning to face the crowds that had now begun to fill the corridors and the room they had migrated to during the fighting.

It was with Merlin’s back to him did Arthur actually take in his surroundings for the first time that night. They were lying across the floor of the throne-room. The grand table had been hacked to pieces and used for firewood by now, and the room was mostly empty save for the piles of water-skins and bedrolls that had been stored along the corners, but the one thing Arthur actually cared about was the throne. The one thing that provided this one seemingly random room with importance was nowhere to be found.  
  
Merlin unsheathed his own sword, clearing his throat. The panicked murmuring that had begun without Arthur’s notice once word spread that the prince Adam had been slain slowly died down. Merlin waited for silence until he raised his blade, battle-worn and well-used, high into the air, and declared in a sure and strong voice, “The prince is dead. Long live the king!” the words echoing through the corridor outside the entrance.  
  
Arthur only stared at Merlin’s back, unable to say anything. He honestly couldn’t believe how steady his companion’s voice had remained. Then Arthur began to fret as the silence stretched. What if the people didn’t _want_ him as king? What if they saw him as just as bad as his father after he’d just killed his brother? Would the people accept him as king at all? He was holding his breath as he waited in the deathly silence that followed Sir Merlin’s brave declaration. But Merlin never lowered his sword and he stood his ground, as though challenging anyone to make any other statement.

Arthur was suddenly overwhelmed. He hadn't taken enough time to really understand how the past seven months had probably affected Merlin. Merlin's father was of a separate House. Most of House Emrys had sided with Adam's forces, which was probably the reason behind the dragons rallied against Arthur's army. Lord Balinor had been a dragonlord, and Arthur had learned from Merlin himself that the dragonlords would only pass down their power when they were, essentially, on their deathbeds. That was why Merlin held no power over the dragons, despite the many times he reassured Arthur he would have had them fighting for Arthur. Merlin had turned away from his father just as Arthur had his brother. They were all each other had, but Merlin never let Arthur mention his family, or ask him about his father. He only ever dedicated himself to Arthur's protection and well-being.

The prince did not deserve Merlin. He was too selfless, too loving, too brave when it came to Arthur. It seemed every time Arthur couldn't imagine Merlin doing anything else for him, _being_ anything else for him, Merlin surprised him once more. He was doing it again now, amazing him. Arthur promised he would spend the rest of his life owing all his victories to Merlin, because if he was going to be honest, he would have nothing had Merlin not been there through the thick and the thin.

Then he saw more knights raise their weapons; swords, axes, daggers -- whatever they had. So did the villagers. Altogether, a chorus of hundreds of voices surrounding him sounded at once, but everything sounded far away and muffled as Arthur watched Merlin turn to stare back at him, almost blinding him with the most radiant, wonderful smile he'd ever seen. Arthur found himself slowly returning such a beautiful smile as he finally let go of the stiff body in his arms and stood up so that he was at eye level with Merlin. He watched as his lips continued to formulate the words everyone else seemed to be chanting. Arthur made his way over to his companion, resting his hand on Merlin's shoulder for leverage, Merlin's hand reaching up to hold his own by the wrist, with absolutely no sign of shame or wariness visible in his eyes. Arthur suddenly understood what they were yelling,  
  
  
“LONG LIVE THE KING! LONG LIVE KING ARTHUR!”

 

  
  
_The End._


End file.
